Brick By Boring Brick
by LupineTears
Summary: What if Tonks pregnancy had come a little later, and she hadn't fought in the Final Battle? What if Severus Snape had never been killed? Depression, angst and a drunken Tonks, with a bit of a love story thrown in. Rated T for bad language.
1. Chapter 1

Ripping Wings off Butterflies

Chapter 1

Tonks couldn't believe it had been a year.

A year since the Final Battle.

A year since Voldemort had been defeated. Hip hip hooray! Orders of Merlin all round!

A year- and this is the part they don't tell you in the history books- since a certain metamorphmagus lost everything.

She had been meant to stay in her parent's house. Remus had made her promise, before he left, to put the safety of herself and their unborn child before anything.

"The battlefield is no place for a pregnant witch, Tonks. Don't worry about me- you know what I'm like, I'll be fine. I'll see you in a few hours, yes?"

Tonks had simply stared, trying to drink him in so that an imprint of Remus James Lupin, werewolf, would stay with her forever. And he had kissed her once, on her forehead, and whispered in her ear;

"Be strong, my love. For all our sakes."

And then he was gone.

She had sat in her parents living room in silence as it grew dark, her arms crossed so tightly her fingernails drew blood, while a thousand deaths flashed through her mind. Remus illuminated in a flash of green light; Remus in the jaws of an Acromantula, Remus struck by a curse, falling motionless to the floor….

She had been paralyzed, by horror and the crippling fear that filled her veins with ice. Her little family in the making- her, Remus, and their unborn child- was so very fragile. The unthinkable would be so easy, likely even, in the battlefield. Human was a delicate thing, so easily shattered in the midst of war. But not Remus. It couldn't be Remus. It just couldn't be.

A backfiring curse. Falling rubble. One of Voldemort's giants.

Not Remus. Not him.

Dementors, Fenrir Greyback, come to finish what he started. Bellatrix Lestrange, who hated Tonks, who wanted to hurt her….

No. Impossible. Impossible.

But she had to check. Just a quick glimpse, she told herself- just to know for sure that he was alright. She wouldn't be in danger, not really…

Nobody had even seemed to notice Tonks appearing in their midst- the enchantments that stopped people apparating in and out of Hogwarts were gone. The Great Hall was in ruins, the air thick with the haze of spells and the heat of destruction. She had caught sight of Minerva and Avery locked in vicious combat, Bill Weasley duelling Fenrir Greyback with a snarl on his face… She had clambered through the rubble, calling for Remus in a voice quickly lost in the clamour of screams and incantations.

And there he was, lying spread-eagled on the floor, his greying hair in disarray. Tonks's heart had skipped a beat as she knelt down beside him, cradled his head in her arms.

"Remus, wake up. It's me, Tonks, Remus… You said not to worry, remember? You said you'd be back soon… Don't go, Remus, you need to be strong. Strong, like you told me… For all our sakes. Remus… Remus…"

He was as light as a bird in her arms, and his face was unmoving as she struggled to sob out words; her throat felt like it had constricted at the sight of him.

"Remus…"

And then Tonks had known, with a certainty that wrenched at the pit of her stomach, that she could call all she liked. But Remus, Remus Lupin, her cherished, her beloved, had gone where he would never hear her voice again.

It had taken her a moment to recognise the cat-wails ripping from between her teeth as her own, and to recognise her grief as her own, as if for a moment she had been a stranger looking on and feeling only pity.

Then a sharp pain lanced through her belly and she felt something inside her tear which instinct screamed should not be touched. The warm, secret place inside of her was cold, and something was falling deep inside- something of herself was fading, as if somebody had taken a knife and cut out a piece of her soul.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the pain was gone, and she was left as nothing but an empty husk crouched among the shattered pieces of her dreams, too wracked with grief even to cry.

Her child was gone. Her husband was gone. And Tonks was alone again- always, alone.

A year had passed, and nothing had changed The days ground by, each one the same routine over and over… The same places, the same people. When she had lost her job as an auror, Minerva had wanted her to take up Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Tonks had refused. She didn't want to be around children- they reminded her too much of what might have been.

Spring changed to summer, and then to autumn and winter again. Tonks watched the turn of the year without interest. If the weather was bleak it matched her mood. If it was sunny, it was a mockery, the world already forgetting those she had lost. Time meant little.

Gloomily, she took a sip of her Firewhiskey. The Hogs Head was nearly empty, thankfully- nobody to talk to her with the false, sugary cheerfulness she despised. People she knew wouldn't meet her eyes, putting on too wide smiles and pretending nothing had happened. Already, they had forgotten. When they talked of the Final Battle, they used words like glory and triumph- never grief, never suffering. Well, Tonks had more than enough of that for all of them.

There were a few people drinking at the bar, unrecognisable from where Tonks was sitting, thank god. She really hoped she didn't know any of them, as she wasn't in the mood for talking- not that she ever was lately. But tonight she was even more not in the mood, if that was possible. Probably best to get away before any of them noticed her. She drained the rest of her glass in one, stood up, and staggered. Apparently, she'd had more to drink than she thought. Bugger.

Through perseverance and brute force, she managed to force her feet to obey her and make a second attempt at standing up. It was rather hard when the floor gave every appearance of swaying like a ship on stormy seas, but she managed it and focused on stopping her legs from buckling slowly beneath her.

Her efforts were not helped by the appearance of an old man with a beard who seemed to be intent on brandishing a stick in her face. By the look of belligerence on his face, she judged he was shouting, but presently she was having trouble discerning distinct words.

"—I'll not have it, I tell you!" Tonks ears came into focus sharply.

"What?" she asked. Or rather, that was what she was aiming for. The beard man evidently had long years of practice translating the language of people who had had a few glasses too many, and didn't bat an eyelash.

"Nymphadora Tonks?"

"Yeah, that's me." One of Tonks's legs gave way at this point.

"I believe you are acquainted with Severus Snape?"

Tonks shrugged. "I've met him, yes. Haven't seen him in about two years, though. Why?" The words seemed to get lost somewhere on the way to her mouth, but after some searching she found them again and forced them out, rather mangled but alive. Well, pretty much.

"Just because he's had rather a lot to drink, and, well… He's on the roof, lass. Won't listen to a word I say. I'd really appreciate it if you could go up here and talk him down. There's a window in the attic you can get out of."

Tonks frowned.

"What's he doing on the roof?"

"I believe he's planning on jumping, miss…"


	2. Chapter 2

Tonks shivered. It was cold out here.

It was round about then that she realised quite what was happening. She was on the roof of the Hogs Head. Why was she on the roof? She had the feeling she should probably know.

She gulped a few mouthfuls of cool air; it cleared her alcohol fogged brain a bit. Ah, yes. She was on the roof to try to stop Snape from jumping.

Good god, really?

Her memory asserted that yes, that was really why she was here. The Firewhiskey told her it was feeling lonely down in her stomach. Mentally, she promised it the company of some butterbeer before she went home.

Now, where was she?

Oh yes, Snape. Tonks looked around for the tall, thin figure. She couldn't see him on this side of the rooftop, and began clambering up to look over the peak of the triangle that made up the roof. It was rather steep going.

A tiny voice in her head wondered if it was really a good idea to be climbing over rooftops when she was pretty well on her way to full drunkenness. The Firewhiskey told it to shut up.

Peering over the rooftop, she could make out the bat like figure on the far edge of the roof, standing with his back to her. He had one foot in the guttering, and was teetering dangerously over the precipice. Tonks sighed and began climbing towards him; this was certainly not what she had planned for her evening. She didn't even like Snape- he had been cleared of all charges of murdering Albus Dumbledore thanks to a great deal of evidence that the hero's death had been arranged beforehand, but… She still wouldn't trust him. Even if he wasn't a murderer, she was perfectly entitled to hate the man on the grounds of his personality.

That statement alone told her she probably wasn't the person to be talking him down from suicide.

Close up, Snape was not looking good. His black eyes were puffy and hooded with fatigue; his skin a shade of grey Tonks thought was normally reserved for corpses. The characteristic greasy hair was worse than ever- before it had at least been combed. Now it hung like a lank, unkempt curtain around his sallow face, black and tangled.

Tonks was at loss for what to say. She hadn't known what she would feel when she saw the potions master again after so long- hatred, perhaps, At the very least dislike. But the feeling she felt surging through her was neither, it was…pity? Yes. Pity.

And the sight of Severus Snape, the half blood prince, reduced to this, was indeed pitiful.

Not having a great deal of experience in suicide (or how to prevent it,) Tonks floundered for something to say. Snape seemed to notice her for the first time, and glared in her direction, black eyes with malice.

"Coherent as usual, I see." His voice, though slightly slurred, was still silky.

"Um, don't jump?" Tonks tried. Snape didn't dignify that with an answer. She couldn't say she blamed him.

"Look," she tried again. "You've had quite a bit to drink. You're not thinking straight. Maybe you should come down and reconsider this in the morning?" When I'm not here. "Or actually, maybe not. You're gonna have one hell of a hangover."

Snape sneered rather impressively. "Alcohol, regrettably, does not cloud my head- the same cannot be said to you, judging by your voice, though I suspect your head was cloudy enough already."

"You're a nasty drunk." Tonks murmured.

"I am not a drunk."

"Yes, you are."

"I refuse to argue with you."

"Excellent."

Snape glared. "I have introduced so much alcohol into my system merely to give myself enough strength to do what must be done. It has not worked."

"No. You're still a coward when you're drunk."

"Do not call me a coward.

"You're a nasty, drunken coward."

"My life is worthless."

"So is your hair."

This wasn't quite going how Tonks had planned. It was hard to convince somebody not to jump when you happened to agree wholeheartedly with all their statements. And Tonks was a bad liar even when she was sober.

"But you shouldn't jump." She added unenthusiastically.

"Why not?" Snape hissed. "I am a leech, a parasite- I took the life of a great man. I should have been left to rot in Azkaban with all the other Death Eaters who survived. I never asked to be alive. I should not be alive, after what I've done, all the people I've killed!"

"You know," said Tonks conversationally, "I think that's the most I've ever heard you say."

Snape shot her a look of utmost contempt, and readied himself to jump, ridiculously bat like as he perched in the gutter.

"Please don't jump!" Tonks grabbed the edge of his cloak.

"Why shouldn't I? It's not like anybody will miss me."

"Don't do it!"

"Let go of my cloak."

"No."

"Let me go!"

"Not happening."

Snape cast her a sly, sideways look, his black eyes glittering.

"Why are you trying to stop me? Run along and go back to wailing for your departed mongrel of a husband, will you?"

Tonks sat down on the tiles with a bump, and an exclamation of shock escaped her lips before she had time to think. The pure malice and ferocity in his words hurt her.

Nobody had mentioned Remus in her hearing since the funeral- a solitary affair, only Tonks and some of the Order of the Phoenix- well, what was left of it. About a dozen mourners and a priest who had mispronounced Remus's name.

Tonks raised her hand and found to her surprise that there were tears running down her cheeks. She gazed in shock at her damp fingers, and looked up at Snape beseechingly. He met her gaze unflinchingly, face expressionless. There was no remorse or pity in his dark eyes, only, now she looked for it, blank pain. Somehow, they reminded her of a wounded animal- Tonks has seen a fox once, caught in a snare, and its eyes had had the same cloudy sheen of fear and resignation.

She had released the fox, with many muttered oaths on the cruelty of muggles. Somehow, she didn't think Snape would be quite so easy.

Perhaps he didn't deserve to be rescued. On the other hand, it would make him happy to kill himself, and Tonks couldn't have that.

"You do know that just because you're having a mental breakdown, it doesn't give you the right to be such a bastard? You're not the only one suffering." Tonks snapped.

Snape said nothing, just turned away and stepped out into space.

"Oh no you don't!" Tonks pulled him back sharply by his cloak; he staggered and very nearly fell on top of her.

"Let go of me, woman!" he snarled, showing sharp, crooked teeth.

"You bloody idiot!" Tonks hissed by way of reply, tightening her hold on the hem of his cloak.

Snape narrowed his eyes and drew his wand with a flourish and an air of grim finality. Tonks gulped. After the unfortunate incident of the Weasels and the Oyster Soup, she had avoided using magic when she'd had a drink or seven… She certainly wasn't up to a duel with Snape.

So she grabbed him by his stiff collar, and kissed him.

At the time, it seemed a logical course of action. Not that she found Snape attractive, the very thought was ludicrous, but she did feel a kind of mildly disgusted empathy with him. And she panicked.

Actually, in hindsight, the panic - not to mention the Firewhiskey- was the main reason.

To her shock, Snape didn't immediately pull away. It might have been something to do with the fact that he was balanced on the very edge of a rooftop, but after the initial stiffening of surprise she felt him relax, and shockingly, he actually kissed her back. Even more shockingly, he was good at it- especially considering he couldn't possibly have had much practice.

They parted after what could have been hours, minutes, or seconds- hopefully the latter- and Tonks felt horrified surprise crashing down on her in waves. Had she really just kissed Snape? Bloody hell. Things were worse than she'd thought.

Snape's face was completely, utterly blank. Without his customary sneer, he looked strangely vulnerable, almost childlike. Slowly, his face still empty, he keeled over. Backwards. Tonks lunged desperately for his robes, but the Firewhiskey hadn't helped her reflexes much, and she grabbed at thin air. Snape landed with a worrying crunch on the deserted pavement.

"Oh, bugger." Said Tonks, peering down at the unmoving figure in the street below.

She really hoped he was only unconscious from the large amount of alcohol, rather than injury from the fall, but he was completely out of it in any case. From this height, he _looked_ like he was breathing. She hoped. Really, as a suicide plan it was very badly worked out.

"Bugger." Tonks said again. This was turning into a really rotten evening.


	3. Chapter 3

Tonks was royally pissed off.

All she had wanted was to be left in peace. Was that really too much to ask? A quiet life, just her and her memories and things that, now, would never be. But no.

Experimentally, she tried nudging the prone form of Severus Snape with her foot. No reaction. He had a pulse, and he was breathing, but that seemed to be all he felt like doing just this moment.

Tonks was no doctor, but she doubted there was any way he could have fallen that far without some injury at least. There was something… odd, about his posture on the pavement that made her think of broken bones- a puppet with no strings did spring to mind. She sighed. If he had been alright, then she could have happily walked off and left him to recover consciousness in his own time. As it was, her conscience wouldn't permit it.

She glanced up and down the street. The shops were shut, not a person in sight- the bearded man had locked the door and was pretending to be deaf no matter how much she banged on the shutters, so that was out. She was unsteady enough from the booze that she didn't trust herself to apparate. And attempting a healing spell was such a bad idea she didn't even consider it.

There was no way she was taking him back to the school herself. No, Definitely not, What exactly she was doing carrying a drunken Snape into Hogwarts in the middle of the night was just not a conversation she wanted to have right now.

Of course, she could try sending a patronus with a message to Minerva. How much could go wrong with that spell, really? When it came down to it?

Plus, if she sent a patronus, she wouldn't have to wait around. She could just leave it to Minerva to look after Greasy Git over there. Yes. That was definitely an upside to that plan.

So. Something happy. Think of something happy, Tonks.

It was harder than it used to be. Damn Snape to all nine hells for making her shuffle through the taped up boxes of her psyche.

Something happy. Her wand wavered in midair as her hand began to shake. Think of something happy.

Remus blossomed into her mind, the image of him before he marched off to die. Tousle haired, greying, his tawny eyes warm even through his concern. His hands on her shoulders, his lips brushing the skin of her forehead.

A stream of light tentatively emerged from the tip of her wand, faint and shimmering; her mind flooded with pictures of Remus, rushing over her like a waterfall- sad Remus, joyful Remus, laughing Remus. A thousand Remus Lupins, and all of them were hers.

The light intensified, grew into a flickering flame; then, with a surge of power that made Tonks weak at the knees, it formed the shape of a huge wolf with a scarred muzzle, shining brighter than the moon. And looking at her with Remus's eyes, through a beasts face. So long since she'd seen those eyes…

Tonks's concentration waved, and the stream of light flickered, and then went out. The wolf stood still for a moment, bizarrely out of place in the street, and then turned and loped away in the direction of Hogwarts. Eventually, even the after image of it's glow faded.

Tonks felt the sobs struggling up her throat, and gave into them; she had no fight left in her. They wracked through her skinny frame as though they threatened to tear her to pieces, and sounded far too loud on the silent street; Tonks didn't care. She felt like she could never care again.

Her cries left her feeling curiously hollow, as if all emotion had left in her stream of tears. She found she was curled up into a tight ball of the pavement, hands clasped behind her neck. Muscles still, as though she'd been running instead of crying, Tonks slowly began to unwind herself, and realised she was curled up in the crook of Snape's arm, weirdly outstretched from the fall. Not touching, but close enough that she felt uncomfortable.

Hurriedly, Tonks scrambled up and used the wall to claw herself upright. She had no idea how long ago it had been that Remu- the patronus, had left. She hadn't given it a message to carry, would Minerva would recognise it in a second when it appeared and, hopefully, follow it back to Snape,

Tonks brushed dirt from her robes, looking down as she did so- and then crying out in shock. Snape's onyx eyes were open, studying her with an unreadable expression. Tonks thought it might have been disgust. How long had he been conscious? Not long enough to witness her crying fit, surely? She felt her cheeks reddening at the thought of it.

"So you're not dead." She said brusquely, to cover her embarrassment.

Marginally, Snape shook his head.

"What a pity." Was that a nod? Probably.

"You injured?" she tried to make it clear from her tone that this would be a good thing. Again, that tiny nod.  
>"How badly?" asked Tonks, striving to sound hopeful.<br>"I think my pelvis is damaged." He said in a small, matter of fact voice. "At least one rib broken. Several more cracked. Possible damage to the vertebrae."  
>"Oh, good." Said Tonks. It was hard to be cruel when what she really wanted was to curl up and start crying again.<p>

No. What she really wanted was her life back.


	4. Chapter 4

Pain.

That was the first thing Severus felt as he drifted through pools of  
>half consciousness.<p>

At first it was a distant ache; half there, half vacant. Then, so  
>gradually he hardly noticed it at first, it increased to a vice of<br>sharp agony that crystallised his mind and dragged him from his  
>dreaming and back into himself.<p>

Back, into the hell that was reality.

The second thing he noticed was that he was having difficulty  
>breathing- every expansion of his lungs was accompanied by a thunder bolt lancing through his chest.<p>

Experimentally, he tried twitching his torso slightly, and was met with a twisting corkscrew of breathless pain. He gritted his teeth until it faded, leaving a red bloom on the inside of his eyelids. Reluctantly, slowly, Severus opened his eyes.

A strange sight met them. Nymphadora Tonks, nose to nose with a huge wolf- an ugly specimen, fur grown in tufty over a criss cross of scars.

Remus? His fogged brain wondered sleepily- then turned sharp with panic. A werewolf- it wasn't safe- she was in danger-

He opened his mouth to cry out, and felt a spasm of agony run down through his back-

and  
>he<br>was  
>broken<br>burning-

Stood over a motionless, red haired figure, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, curiously devoid of pain.

"I never meant this." he told the corpse of Lily Evans matter of  
>factly- and then here came the emotion, the rushing tide of sorrow and bitter, twisted regret like a cold snake in his stomach-<br>The tears, hot and vulnerable on his cheeks, and Lily's eyes, so  
>beautiful even in death, eyes that would never shine again-<p>

At first, Severus thought the sobs he heard might be his own. But no- they were too high, too fast to be his. Careful not to move again, he opened his eyes.

The wolf was walking away, and for the first time Severus noticed it was made entirely of light.

A patronus, he thought, almost giddy with relief. Just a patronus.  
>There was no danger.<p>

And it was Nymphadora Tonks who was crying, standing with her back to him, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Her knees buckled and she fell to the floor like a crumpled paper doll. This close, he could feel her sobs through the ground, thin vibrations that echoed with the little whimpers she gave.

Listening to her cry disturbed him. He did not want to hear it- she  
>thought she was alone, and the thought of him hearing something so private made Severus uneasy. It was like he had been counting on her to wear her mask of strength, and now she had taken it off he was unnerved by the face beneath. It made him feel vulnerable, being exposed to such emotion.<p>

He felt the beginnings of pity for her- and then, instinctively, the  
>black curtain came down, shutting off all emotion.<p>

It was a well practised technique- all his life, he had been using it.  
>Don't cry when Daddy hits Mummy, ignore the Marauders taunting, don't let anybody see past the Death Eaters mask.<p>

I hear that Nymphadora Tonks is crying. I register this. I feel nothing.

Hidden behind the familiar rites again, he felt safer. Stronger.

She was still sobbing, curled up into a ball on the ground.

I feel nothing.

Her arms clasped so tight behind her neck, as though she was trying to hold herself together.

Foolish girl. He was pleased by the genuine contempt behind the  
>thought. Such excess of emotion would get her nowhere- she was as open<br>as a book for any Legilimens who cared to look.

The sobs faded.

Was she still conscious? He couldn't see from here. He damn well hoped so. She had no business going to sleep and leaving him.

She let out a teary little sigh, and shuffled to her feet like a  
>newborn foal, using the wall as a support. He thought about speaking, to let her know he was here, but thought that the shock he would give her might well result in her falling on him. He really didn't need that just now. It felt like there had been enough damage done already, thanks all the same.<p>

He barely payed attention as she noticed him and spoke, safe behind his black curtain. He was aware he replied in a monotone, but that was pretty much it.

She leaned against the wall with a sigh, and her currently mousy hair grew long enough that it screened her face. Silly girl- didn't she know he could reach into her mind whether he could see her face or not? But he didn't. He had more than enough grief of his own without getting a helping of Tonks's.

"I'm going." she said suddenly, raising her chin and standing up  
>straight again. "I've sent a patronus, so somebody from the school<br>should turn up soon."  
>"I do not work in Hogwarts any longer." he remarked icily. He had<br>presumed she would know that; after so long of his mask as a death eater, nobody at hogwarts was willing to forgive him. Outwardly, yes, but inside they were united in hatred. He didn't blame them.

However, this statement seemed to have thrown Tonks.  
>"What do you mean?" she asked, sounding genuinely shocked. Her naïveté was equal parts irritating and amusing.<br>"Well, given that I killed the headmaster..." he said, quirking one  
>eyebrow.<br>"Oh," Tonks gasped, "But... It was arranged!"  
>"Yes, but while in theory that holds true, in practice it is very<br>likely that most inhabitants of the castle would not be pleased to see  
>me."<p>

Good god, now there was actual pity in her eyes. How dare she pity him? She, who had spent the last two years moping about painting the world in shades of grey? She probably thought he was a misunderstood gothic hero. Well, hed bloody well show her he was no Heathcliff.

"But by all means, bugger off." he spat, "I don't want you, of all  
>people, here. Why don't you just curl up in your turtle shell and cry a bit more about dear departed half-human, so you don't have to confront anything? You're a worthless creature to choose him as a mate, though at least you lost his baby- the world doesn't need another half breed brat."<p>

He watched her face crumple up, tears of defeat welling up again. The woman was like a living tap, for Merlins sake. He practically shouted those words into the silence of his mind, but he could cover a tiny pang of guilt.

Black curtain, Severus. Black curtain.

"I hope you die in pain." Tonks said quietly. "It was stupid of me to  
>save you." Severus shut his eyes, heard her footsteps crunch away<br>through the snow.

I hope I die in pain too, Nymphadora. He whispered to himself. God knows, it's the least I deserve.

**I hope you are all enjoying this… If you like it, reviews would be welcome :3 or, for that matter, if you don't like it, I can work with that :D thb eduhg **

**See all those random letters up there? That's the produce of a rabbit jumping on the keyboard =.=**

**And I'm sorry about the weird spacing issues on this chapter, my computer isn't cooperating. I'll try hitting it with a hammer.**


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